The Furt The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Titanic Tragedy

of the Cunard ship, I could see passengers lining the rail. Some, judging by the blankets draped over their shoulders, were survivors of the Titanic, looking for relatives in approaching lifeboats.

I attempted to climb the ladder that had been cast down from the deck, but found I was still too weak. A member of the crew threw me a rope, which was looped at the end. I put this under my arms and began to climb, as he pulled me from above.

We were offered blankets and coffee by one of the Carpathia’s passengers, which we accepted, gratefully. The mood on board was, as one might expect, very sombre. Some passengers were sitting in chairs, staring blankly at the deck. Others were walking about, searching for loved ones.

We saw Officer Lowe, who was strolling about trying to console survivors of the disaster. After speaking to a woman in a deckchair, he walked over to where we were standing.

‘Doctor, I am very pleased to see you here. Can I help you with anything?’

‘No, no, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I was just wondering if you, perhaps, had seen Commodore Winter?’

‘No, I am afraid to say I have not.’

‘Mr Futrelle?’

‘No, nor him either and, if I’m not mistaken, most of the boats have pulled up alongside... Forgive me, Doctor, but you do not look well. Why do you not go below? The Carpathia’s passengers have given up their cabins for the survivors. They are all being very kind and helpful.’

‘We will soon, Mr Lowe. Thank you.’

I was feeling unsteady on my feet and somewhat dizzy. With the assistance of my two companions, I contacted a member of the Carpathia’s crew, who took me below to a cabin. Again, I slept.

When I awoke, hours later, Miss Storm-Fleming was sitting by my bedside and we were alone in the small, modest cabin.

‘Doctor Watson, you will be pleased to know that the ship’s doctor said you should recover fully. All you need is rest.’

‘Holmes?’

She gripped my hand. ‘Still no sign. And there is no sign either of Futrelle, the captain — or that scoundrel, Moriarty.’

She had been talking to the other passengers and crew and told me what she had learned. The captain had apparently gone down with the ship. There was a report that he had been on the bridge when it went down, while someone else said they had seen him swimming in the water. One rumour had it that he had swum to a lifeboat carrying a baby and then left without attempting to save himself. The young wireless operator, Mr Bride, had survived, but his colleague, Mr Phillips, had not. They had both heroically stayed at their posts until the very end, when the captain relieved them of their duties.

One of the strangest stories was of Mr Andrews, the ship’s builder, who apparently decided to see the end in the ship’s smoking room. Someone reported seeing him standing there, without a life jacket, staring at the painting of Plymouth Harbour. His old debating partner, William Thomas Stead, was there too, sitting quietly with a book.

Some of the ship’s officers, including Lightoller, Boxhall and Pitman, who had been put in charge of individual lifeboats, had survived. Others, like Mr Murdoch, were among the dead.

There had been many acts of heroism during the night – some of which, undoubtedly, will never be known. But one that must not be overlooked was that of Arthur Rostron, captain of the Carpathia, who guided his ship through a field of icebergs to come to the Titanic’s rescue. While his ship had been too far away to arrive before the sinking, her crew acted valiantly to rescue survivors. Another ship, the Californian, had apparently been much closer, but had shut down its wireless equipment minutes before the first disaster call went out. Some of the crew had seen the rockets being fired, but did not recognize them as a disaster signal.

In all, just over 700 of the Titanic’s 2,200 passengers and crew had survived. By far, the heaviest losses were among the steerage passengers and the crew. All thirty-six of the ship’s engineers, who kept the engines and lights going until the very end, had apparently died.

And what of Holmes? Mr Lightoller told Miss Storm-Fleming that he had seen him struggling, hand to hand, with Moriarty just before the ship went down. But he could not say what happened to him after that.

‘They say we will reach New York by Thursday,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming.

I did not answer at once but lay there, staring at the ceiling.

‘I was just thinking about Holmes...and about all those people on deck. Some just refused to believe that the ship would sink, right to the very end. Hundreds more might have been saved if they had taken the danger seriously. Did they really think that the Titanic was unsinkable?’

‘I suppose we have become arrogant, somehow believing that we had overcome the forces of nature once and for all. We have forgotten humility. I think, if anything, the Titanic is a reminder for us to face the future with more humility. But, if you want to talk about legacies, let us consider the one left by Mr Holmes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mr Holmes certainly believed in the power of reason, but there was far more to him than that. His character and unswerving devotion to justice were unmatched. And the clarity of his values gave him the courage to recognize the villains of the world. I say courage, because once he recognized an injustice, he felt duty bound to challenge it. And he did this with an energy and confidence that set an example to everyone else.’

‘Indeed, he did, Miss Storm-Fleming.’

‘Doctor Watson, you too have shown those qualities. In fact, they live on in your books. There is your legacy to future generations.’

There was a knock at the door and Miss Norton walked in. ‘Why do you not come up on deck with me and get some fresh air?’

‘Well, Doctor Watson?’ said Miss Storm-Fleming. ‘Are you ready for a turn on the deck?’

‘Miss Norton, Miss Storm-Fleming, fresh air is just what is required.’ I rose from the bed and smiled at my companions. ‘We must be fit. There is still much to be done.’

Chapter Thirty

SUNDAY 21 APRIL 1912

It was reassuring to feel solid earth beneath my feet. The sky was blue and the sun had just risen over Chesapeake Bay. I was walking along the bank of the Severn River, which was dotted sparsely with oak and maple trees. I paused to listen to the chorus of chirping birds and the water splashing over the rocks. There is nothing quite like the serenity of a fresh spring morning.

I was being treated to this welcome respite by American intelligence officials. An acknowledgement of my role in the delivery of the submarine plans, they had offered me free use of a guest cottage at the US Naval Academy at Annapolis. I accepted gratefully.

My two companions of the last two weeks were also enjoying the hospitality of the US Navy and staying at guest cottages near mine.

Try as I might, I could not remove the haunting memories of the Titanic’s sinking and the loss of my dear friend from my mind. But here, alone with my thoughts, I was just beginning to comprehend fully the enormity of what had happened.

I walked on, poking at shrubs with my walking stick as I moved at a brisk pace. The air was becoming warmer and I considered stopping to remove my overcoat. The fresh air and exercise were making me hungry, and I was beginning to think about breakfast. I turned to see how far I had walked from the academy.

Behind me, I could see only the river and the vast solitude of the fields. I had apparently lost track of time and walked further than I had planned.

Then, in the distance, I saw another hiker. The man had just emerged from behind a ridge, and was walking along the river bank, following the same path I had just travelled. He was a tall, gaunt figure wearing a long grey travelling coat and close-fitting cloth cap. There was something familiar about the man — his gait, the look of his